


Deep blue

by Setmeonfire_png



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Canon Compliant, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Pining Keith (Voltron), Slow Burn, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, but honestly who doesnt love lance am i right ladies, give him a break, honestly, if they weren't soulmates keith would've probably killed him by now, keith is done with lance's shit, klance, lance is oblivious
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-01
Updated: 2017-06-11
Packaged: 2018-10-13 17:59:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10518927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Setmeonfire_png/pseuds/Setmeonfire_png
Summary: Everyone is born with a soulmark that reflects their soulmates personality, and it's common knowledge that whenever you touch the mark, your soulmate can feel it. With Keith and his synesthesia, whenever he touches his mark, his soulmate can see the colours/feel the senses he feels whenever a sound, smell, or touch triggers a response.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> aaah i'm back again, this time with a (hopefully) not as shitty fic! since i wrote my pretty setter, ive fallen into voltron hell, which has given you this fic that ive wanted to write for a while now! keith has chromesthesia (sound to colour/feeling), touch to colour and smell to colour synesthesia. I aim for this to be a long fic and not a oneshot like my last one. I hope you all enjoy and feel free to comment if you do! :)
> 
> (idk how to change the chapter count but it definitely doesnt have only one chapter so hang on while i try and fix that lmao)

For Keith, synesthesia has always been one of those things he's felt lucky to have. To know that you have a deeper connection than most to the things around you, to smell something and suddenly be surrounded by colour was, to him, incredible.

It was because of this that he'd spend most of his time as a child outside, in the woods climbing a tree and feeling the roughness of the aged bark beneath his hands as it flaked off onto his palm and left it damp where it had rained. His mind was filled with rich shades of brown whenever he touched the wood, and it made him feel warm and content. The birds that sat perched high up in the trees sung to each other, their voices light shades of pink, yellow, and white as they called out into the thick expanse of greenery. The smell of the damp earth and leaves he trod on in his boots greeted him with deep greens that looked like the curtains he had in his room. He felt safe here, he decided, and he didn't want to leave. He found himself in places like that often, and even as he moved from one foster home to another, he always managed to find a space to escape to, letting his fingers run against surfaces and his ears listen to the different sounds each new place elicited. It was something he used to ground himself whenever he felt unsteady- moving somewhere new all of the time and having to meet new people scared him, especially since he didn't like talking much, let alone to complete strangers he'd just met.

But as he grew older, the senses quickly turned on him, only serving to intensify the memories he'd rather forget. Late nights accompanied by thoughts pushed deep down, wanting to be left behind suddenly bubbling back up in a fit of inescapable deja vu. Long forgotten voices trawling out and repeating old conversations that taunted him with the past that he had been given. Angry reds that flourished in tight blooms underneath his skin, threatening to pierce through and escape. Envious greens that laced voices in acidic hues, saying words that penetrated deep within him;words that he was too embarrassed to admit hurt, words that reminded him of his own insecurities and fears which left him confused and bewildered, desperately trying to grab on to something to keep him grounded, but to no avail.

_You'll never be a good enough fighter pilot._

_Your parents left because they don't care about you._

_No one wants you around._

Those kind of words were thick murky colours, a collection of beautiful shades that clashed together and mixed to make ugly browns and greys, suffocating and shrouding every self loathing corner of keith's mind.

He didn't like it. Not one bit.

-

At frst, Keith's time spent at the garrison was full of dull greys- he hadn't made many friends, too endorsed in his piloting to care about making any. He knew the people around him gave him looks because he was good at his work, but he quickly dismissed them and tried to ignore the fact that the whispers in the corridors about the 'genius pilot' bothered him more than he would like them to.

That was until he met Shiro.

From the moment he met him, he felt as though he had a purpose. Pride filled his chest at the thought that he had made a friend. _His first friend_. His voice sounded like soft gravel- commanding yet gentle- accompanied by accents of purple and red. He kept him grounded, made sure he didn't fly off the handle bars whenever he got too stressed or mad. He was a comforting person to be around, one that he was infinitely grateful for. He was the first, and for a long time only, person that he confronted his soulmark about.

His soulmark.

Everyone was born with one, and it was common knowledge that they could feel whatever you could. The problem was, he hadn't felt anything from his soulmate- not even a single touch- ever. He figured whoever it was, they just didn't care about it like he did, or even worse, they were dead. When he talked to Shiro about it, he mentioned it in frustration.

"But I don't get it Shiro! What's wrong, it's not normal to not have felt anything from your soulmate, especially at this age! Oh god, what if something happened to them, what if they're dead, Shiro holy shit what if they died and I didn't have a soulmate anymore what if-"

"Calm down Keith. I'm sure it's fine, your soulmate isn't dead. What if they just haven't felt too curious about it yet like you have, and haven't touched it yet?" He assured him, and immediately the familiar purples washed over him and he relaxed.

He was right. But a knot of worry still sat in the pit of his stomach, gnawing away at him. Even though he didn't care much about soulmates, he still touched at his mark whenever he felt anxious- worried about his real parents and where they might be, if they're still even alive, the kind of thoughts that kept him awake at night.

He touched his mark the most on the night of Shiro's disappearance.

His only friend, the person he held the closest to him, was gone, and now he didn't anyone again. Just like when he was younger. 

He glanced down at the blue flower that lay above his left hipbone and sighed. He moved his fingers down to it and traced them along the petals, longing for the warmth that he heard the other students in the garrison talk about in the halls when your soulmate touched their mark. He wondered where his soulmate was, what they were doing.

Hoped that whoever they were, they were okay.

 


	2. Cold sweat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance is growing more confused about the vivid dreams he's having that are filled with colour and ghost touches and leave him waking up a mess.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry it's been so long! but I'm back with a chapter 2 so I hope yall enjoy! special thanks to millie who is one of my best friends and has been helping me with this fic! ily

Lance bolted upright, shaking and breathing heavily. Sweat stained his sheets and face and his tshirt stuck to his torso, sticky and wet. He ran his hands through his damp hair as his eyes darted around the room and caught sight of his alarm clock. It emitted a soft glow as the digital letters blinked at him, reading a time which told him that he should be sleeping.

_3:32am._

He lay there for a few minutes, placing his body back on his pillows and recollecting himself, his breathing becoming more steady and regulated. Feeling hot, he kicked his covers off and rested his shoulders against the headboard. 

He stared at the wall in front of him and recollected on what had happened before he woke with a start. This wasn't the first time, not by a long shot. For as long as he could remember his sleep had been plagued by dizzying colour and ghost touches that left his skin warm and his heart empty and aching. Lights would flash in front of his eyes as his vision was filled with bursts of varying hues- bright oranges, sun gold, pastel greens accented by cool blues, rich purples, sandy yellows, and red. 

Red.

The colour was by far the most prominent and was what accompanied the touches and soft laughs that dotted his technicolour dreamscape. His vision swam with different shades, from pastels to soft roses and then deep crimson, and exploded in front of his eyes everywhere he turned, leaving him disorientated yet somehow longing for more, as if he wanted his entire body to be engulfed with the colour. 

The voice would then transform into a figure he couldn't make out, who spoke unrecognizable words in soft tones and gave gentle touches that set his whole body ablaze in a burning heat that left him cold when he retreated- he wanted to be in their presence and hear their voice for the rest of his life. It was a feeling that left him empty and aching so much that it almost hurt. He needed this more than he had ever needed anything else before. Then the figure would leave and he would be filled with a cold that hit him like a punch in the gut- he felt it travel through himself, starting at his toes and then spreading to his limbs like tree roots. They reached his lungs and wrapped around them, encasing them in an inescapable blanket of frost. He struggled for breath, his only attempts falling short at stutters that came in quick succession and his pulse raced as his body tried desperately to spread blood through his system before he succumbed to the cold. His vision became blurred and he'd collapse, only to wake up seconds later sweating in shock. All he was left with each time were sentences cut short in a foreign tone and an indescribable empty feeling that lay deep in his gut. He had pieces of an incomplete jigsaw puzzle that he was forced to try to fit together, little snippets full of vividness that would all too shortly fade back to a dull grey that settled as a stone in his stomach.

He had never told anyone about the dreams- he was scared that he would be seen as unnatural and called a freak or shunned by the people he loved. He had heard chatter on the playground amongst his classmates at school about boys who liked other boys and how 'wrong' and 'gross' it was to love another man. He'd seen kids beaten up and laughed at because they'd shown a liking towards a fellow student, had seen how hurt they'd looked as they were abandoned by the people they were supposed to trust and be happy around. How would they react if they knew that the person that made him feel so warm and filled with longing was the same gender as him? He didn't want to feel like that, didn't want to be pushed away by his friends and have people whispering about him behind his back. Home wasn't much better- he had a loving family but he came from a conservative background and not everyone accepted people who weren't straight and cis. He was lucky to live in a house where most people did, but like with the rest of the family, he wasn't sure if everyone would accept him, and how they'd treat him after. He knew his mamá and siblings would, but he didn't want anyone else in his family to know, and he knew how easily gossip could spread throughout it. 

It's probably why he ignored, or at least tried to ignore, his soulmark.

The flower sat just above his right hipbone and bloomed in captivating shades of red, its petals growing out in delicate natural waves, thin vines of green winding its way out between them in complicated swirls. It was beautiful, and it was bitterly ironic that it was something that he was ashamed of and hid from the world, but he didn't want anyone to know that he even had a soulmate, let alone the fact that they were male. Yet the longing was still there at the back of his head and weighed down on his mind constantly. The longing and ache was brought to consciousness every time he felt the familiar warmth emanate from it, quickly spreading to his body as they-he, whoever he was, traced his fingers along the petals gently. What made it worse, or better, was the fact that the touches were accompanied by an orchestra of colours that varied each time it was touched. Some days it was ocean blues, the kind that reminded him of home- the times he swam with his brother Leo, or when his tía scolded him for accidentally stepping on his cousin Isabella's sandcastle. (it's not like it was the end of the world, the sea would've just washed it away in the end anyway) Other days he felt soft pinks and lilacs, much like the colour of the hair ties he used to braid his little sister Sofía's hair.

It was an affectionate gesture, one that filled him with comfort and loving whenever it was touched, which made it even harder to not reciprocate. Maybe he thought that Lance just didn't care, or that he wasn't alive. The thought of his soulmate ever being sad over him stung- he didn't ever want to be the cause of something like that. He hoped that one day he'd be able to have the courage to touch his soulmark, let whoever it was know that he was the cause of both his grief and deepest happiness, that he was okay, and that he loved him, even if some people thought that it was wrong.

He cared, he was okay.

He was okay.

 


	3. Painful mistakes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith, angered with the facts revolving around Shiro's disappearance, decides to take matter into his own hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for waiting, here is chapter 3! I hope you guys enjoy, this one is longer than the last two. Also! Thank you for 100 kudos! the support so far has been great, thank you to everyone who's read it up to now!

Keith didn't care where he was going. As long as it was far, far away from the Garrison.

It had started a day after his disappearance, when Shiro's alleged 'death' was reported over assembly. Keith sat there, motionless, unable to think. Surely-surely he couldn't be dead, right? He racked his brain for memories and flicks of images of them together on missions- him smiling- along with his old friend's voice echoed around his head.

_Purple, black, purple, purple._

They mentioned that they didn't find any footage of the disappearance, and that if they did then they would have said something. But if there was anything suspicious, surely the Garrison would keep it secret, right?

Worry pulled at Keith's gut as images of Shiro being blown apart or burnt to death by some malfunctions in the engine flashed in front of his eyes.

No. No, that couldn't have happened to him, not Shiro. Not the guy who always had a smile on his face, not the one who helped him through all the training sessions, not the one who always offered a shoulder to cry on whenever Keith lost his footing and got caught up in his own mind.

Not the only person who had ever cared about him enough to stick around.

Suddenly Keith felt his body tense up as the worry quickly turned to anger that rose up through his body like flames in a house fire, licking up the walls of his body as they made their way northwards to his throat, where they sat squirming until they were released. His chest tightened with a deep inhale as he stood up from the hall and with shaky legs made his way to the exit. 

He needed an explanation. Now.

Storming down the corridor, he made his way to Commander Iverson's door at lightning pace and stood in front of it determined. He exhaled and pulled one of his tightened fists from his side and knocked on the door impatiently, already seething from the knowledge of who was going to be behind it. The door opened, and without even a glance at the Commander's face Keith marched his way inwards, shoving past him, and folded his arms across his chest, staring at the man's back.

Iverson turned around, and with a concerned yet annoyed look on his face, he opened his mouth to speak.

"What are you-"

"Where's Shiro." Keith demanded, not taking his eyes off of the older man.

"What do you mean, I-" Iverson was quite clearly taken by surprise at the sentence, struggling for a brief second on what to say.

"Where is Shiro", Keith repeated, practically spitting at the Commander's face.

"Didn't you hear earlier in the cadet announcement? He's dead, along with the two others involved in the mission."

"Shiro's not dead." Keith could feel his anger rising with every minute he spent in this room, and he needed answers, quick.

"Listen kid, I don't know why you're so worked up, but I told you, he died. Look, I'm sorry if you're upset, but-"

"You're lying." Keith cut him off again.

"What?" By now Iverson was completely confused as to why this cadet was so insistent, even when the truth was right there.

"You're lying. He's not dead." Keith insisted. "I know he's not dead. There's no footage of any of the crew members dying in any of the ship's cameras, and none of the technology on it malfunctioned."

Commander sighed, growing increasingly impatient. What was this guy's deal?

"Look, I don't know what's gotten into you, but let me tell you something clear. Takashi Shirogane is dead. Gone. D-e-a-d. Get it?"

Keith was near his breaking point. He knew Shiro was still alive, and how dare Commander use that tone when talking about his best friend? The colours returned and fogged his vision as his anger took over.

_Red, red, black, red_

Keith slammed his fists against the desk, shouting at him.

"HE'S NOT DEAD. STOP LYING TO ME. I'VE HAD IT WITH NOT KNOWING ANYTHING, WITH ALWAYS BEING KEPT IN THE DARK. TELL ME WHERE SHIRO IS. TELL ME NOW."

Commander was startled by the sudden raise in Keith's voice, but no sooner was he shocked than did a scowl grow on his face. He gritted his teeth, fighting the urge to stoop to his level and shout back.

"I do not appreciate you using that kind of tone with me cadet. I am your superior, treat me like one. I have told you too many times before, and now I am going to have to ask you to leave. Shirogane is dead."

That was it. The fire in Keith's throat finally made its way out, and his head pounded as his vision swam with shades of deadly crimson. He screamed as he protested.

"HE'S NOT FUCKING DEAD, YOU ASSHOLE"

He raised his fist and lunged at the commander, hitting him square in the jaw as he yelled. Iverson stumbled backwards, one hand clutched to his jaw, and hit his head against a cork board. He made a pained sound on impact, and he slid down the wall onto the floor.

Quickly, the colours subsided and Keith's vision cleared as the adrenaline spike made its way back down. Now though, as he calmed, panic sunk quick in his stomach as the reality of what he had just done hit him with full force. He stood rigid, eyes still on the figure that lay on the floor as he watched it slowly rise. One hand still held precariously over where Keith had punched him, Iverson turned to the boy, his face sat in a dangerous expression. He was livid. He fixed him a glare that bore a hole through his skull. Keith already knew what was to come, so he braced himself for the impact.

"Get out," Iverson said firmly, still staring at him with a look of disgust. "And don't come back."

Keith didn't hesitate, and without uttering a word he walked out the room with his head hung low.

Walking along the corridors to his dorm, he felt a lump rise in his throat and his eyes water. He rubbed them furiously. No. He wouldn't cry here, he wouldn't let himself. Gathering the small amount of things he owned, he marched his way out of his room and through the exit of the garrison without turning back once, not even when he heard the guards voice their concerns for where he was headed.

"You shouldn't be out here kid, training sessions don't start until 12:30!" One shouted at him.

He didn't pay any notice, he knew where he belonged. He wasn't wanted here, he wasn't wanted anywhere. It was just like every foster home he'd been forced into- as soon as he got familiar with one place and started to settle down, something had to go wrong, and he was sent to another home without any warning. How stupid was he to think that maybe this time it was different? That maybe this time, just for once, he had found a place where he belonged?

He didn't have anywhere to go, so he just kept walking, and he didn't stop, even when his legs ached and his tshirt clung to him with sweat and his throat was begging for water. Not until he stumbled across an old run down shack worn with age. Its roof was missing a few planks, and the door has completely blown over and was now laying in the dust rotting.

Who cared. It was good enough. Good enough for someone as pathetic and worthless as Keith.

He stepped in the shack, throwing his jacket to one side and slumping his body down against one of the walls, letting himself slide to the floor. He breathed out shakily, and only then did the full extent of what he had done sunk in.

He didn't try to fight back the tears that spilled down his cheeks and landed in his lap, his whole body shaking as he cried. Sobs ripped their way through him like tremours as he released all of the emotions he'd held inside for so long, bringing forth a plethora of unwanted colours that only served to make the whole ordeal more painful.

He cried for Shiro, the one friend he'd ever made, now lost in space, millions of miles away from here, and fuck knows what had happened to him.

He cried for his parents, longing for their tender touches that he couldn't even remember feeling at this point, wishing that they hadn't left him, that they still cared about him.

He cried for everyone at the garrison, for his time spent there, wishing that he hadn't been so stupid and acted upon his emotions.

He cried for his soulmate, wishing that he knew where they were- who they were-, that they were okay, and the thought that they might not even be alive caused another wave of sadness to tear through him. 

Again he found himself staring down at his mark, and through the sheath of tears that clouded his vision he palmed it desperately, wishing that they would just respond, that they were here with him right now.

He cried and cried until the sobs became whimpers, and then muffled sniffles, until he stopped completely and he was left feeling empty. He wiped his eyes on the back of his sleeve as the silence finally settled in around him and the darkness of the shack was brought to his senses.

He was alone.


	4. Warmth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance feels cold, and he doesn't know why.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapter, whip and naenae baby!

Lance was talking animatedly to his (much to their unfortune) two other favourite cadets, besides himself of course, when he felt it. One minute he had his arms up in the air, flailing them around in a wild manner, the next he was stood rigid, unable to function. Pidge and Hunk stared at him with a mixture of confusion and concern- Lance, who had only moments ago been rambling on about the latest 'breakthrough' in microwaveable pizzas (now they only take 3 minutes to cook, do you know how much marathonning time that saves you?? ), now looked like he had just been told that his pet dog had died, and he didn't even have one. Hunk was the first one to speak; "Hey lance, buddy, are you okay??", he asked, worry flooding over his face, eyebrows dipping. He didn't get a response, question falling on deaf ears as the same pain stricken face stared back at him, unmoving.  
Because no, no Lance was not okay. Not in the slightest. Because he'd just received a number of worrying touches from his soulmate. Worrying, because the touches that he felt so often felt wrong- different. Where they were usually warm and welcoming, filling Lance with an undescribable feeling that seemed to want to burst out of his chest, were now cold and unsettling, almost painful, and his senses were instantly hijacked by an overwhelming urge to kneel over and throw up.

The room span.

Nauseous, he tried to snap out of his static state and formulate a reply, at least for the wellbeing of his friends, because hell if they didnt look petrified. 

The lump that had wormed its way into his throat and made itself home in the last minute made it hard for him to speak, the only sounds making their way out of his mouth being indecipherable strangled vowels. When he finally could, however, he grabbed at the opportunity and quickly mumbled out an excuse.  
"I need to go to the bathroom"  
Dizzy, he barged past the pair and made a beeline for the restroom, practically breaking down the door as he rushed in.  
No sooner had he hastily slammed a cubicle door shut than did he vomit, bringing back up the shitty processed garrison food into the toilet in an ugly mess of brown. Grabbing at his head as he swallowed back down the acidic taste in his mouth he sat there, letting his vision swim as he tried to think.  
It wasn't just the feeling- the colours that accompanied it were just as painful.   
Blue...but not in the way he had felt blue before.  
Cold, dark and harsh blues, ones that were reminiscent of the dreams he had, ones that gave him physical shivers, resonating deep within him and settling as a chill in his bones. His heart pounded with anxiety and adrenaline the only thing being louder than it his head, which was splitting in a lingering ache. Sweat was starting to drip down his face and soak through his skin and he was forced to leave the recluse of the cubicle and wash his face off in one of the sinks. Looking up at his wet face, he was taken aback in shock. No wonder Pidge and Hunk looked so worried. He looked awful.

His skin looked pale and sickly, all of the usual colour lost, tan skin replaced with an uneasy grey tint. His eyes looked sunken, the dark blue gone, now a dull and lifeless grey.   
'At least I look how I feel' Lance thought to himself, and hollowly laughed, ignoring the pain in his chest that stabbed at him as he did. Blinking, he tried to concentrate, and ultimately gave up 5 seconds later after realising that that wasn't possible at the moment. His eyes stung and he felt the familiar wet sheen blanket them and oh god, was he crying??  
Staggering back to the cubicle, he sat on the toilet again and locked the door, pulling his long legs up from the floor so that if anyone walked in, at least they wouldnt know that behind one of the doors was a crying mess.  
Trying his best to muffle his sniffles, he shifted his focus onto how he would solve this problem. Obviously something bad had happened to his future other half, and he prayed that it wasnt fatal. God, if he had died without ever receiving a touch from his soulmate Lance would feel like such an asshole.

He didn't even want to think about what he would actually do if something like that happened.

His gaze involuntarily moved down to his hips, and he mentally slapped himself for doing so. He couldn't, not now, he needed more time, he couldn't just touch it, no no no no-  
But what other choice was there?  
He tried to push the intrusive thoughts away but he couldn't, and eventually he just let them in, flooding his mind like a damn just broke. He thought about his family, what his dad and other family members would think if he did such a thing.

But he had to.  
There was no other choice.   
He had t-

Shaking his head, he shimmied out of the bottom half of his uniform and pulled down his boxers just slightly so that the flower could be seen.  
It looked just as beautiful as ever, the petals shining in the flourescent yellow lighting of the restroom.

Cautiously, he urged his hand to move towards it, spurred on by every muscle in his body telling him to do so, but painfully clashing with his mind that screamed at him to stop, stop, don't do it, don't. It was pathetic, him treating it as if it was an injury and not the one thing that he's literally supposed to be the most open towards, but that didnt't stop him from wincing as his hand came into contact with the skin that surrounded it. He let his hand rest there for a while as he steadied his breathing and prepared for the inevitable. Closing one eye, he reached a finger towards the mark and touched it.  
He immediately jerked back as soon as he did, but now he was conflicted as the sensation he received as he did so felt so new and different. No longer as afraid, he touched it again, letting his finger linger for longer this time.  
As he did so, he immediately felt the familiar warmth flow through him, and he tipped his head back against the cubicle wall in relief. His senses were shaken awake, and he no longer felt sick and run down.

Thoughts about disapproving parents and friends that rejected him now felt small and menial, quickly chased away by a new urge to protect and love, care for whoever his soulmate may be. He kicked himself for putting this off for so long, regretting not feeling this way sooner. As if struck by some instinctual need, he touched it again, and again, letting his hand rub circles over it in a theraputic manner, as if comforting someone. He did it again and again, hoping that his soulmate felt this, knew that he wasnt alone at last, and that Lance felt the way he did, and that he was sorry, so sorry, that he didnt do this sooner. And, after thinking that, he swears a flash of red appears in his mind, if not for only second. It could've been his fleeting imagination, but regardless it fills him with a fuzzy feeling, one that makes him smile stupidly from ear to ear.

 _He's out there,_  he thinks to himself.

He's out there and I love him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uhhh hi?? Sorry for not posting for like, literally over a month?? I should rlly work on updating schedules more, :// but! Lance finally touches his soulmark woooo! *cue audience applause* thank you all for waiting and I hope you enjoy, and as always comments and kudos are much appreciated!


End file.
